How Can You See Through My Eyes Like Open Doors?
by clockwork-and-roses
Summary: A mysterious detective from France comes to the Phantomhive manor to assist Ciel with a difficult case. But this woman is more than she appears to be and Sebastian surprisingly finds himself emotionally conflicted.
1. Chapter 1

**The title comes from Evanescence's "Bring Me To Life"**

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CHAPTER 1-

After a long and dreary ride through the London countryside, my carriage finally pulls in front of the manor. It has been so long since I've visited this part of the world; I forgot how cold the English summers could be, and how the daily rain showers could give the land a stark, melancholy backdrop. The gray sky, however, completes the picture of the country manor before me. _It is quite nice_, I think to myself. Gothis in style, with those cathedral-like windows and tall iron spires jutting from the roof. The landscaping intrigues me as well-lush, well-tended gardens surrounding a tiled outdoor courtyard, complete with a marble fountain at its center. All these observations pass through my mind as I step down from my carriage, gathering the crushed velvet of my skirts to prevent the hem from trailing the moist gravel.

_This is the home of old money_, I think to myself_. And plenty of it_

I am almost too distracted in my observations of the manor; I don't notice the slim form of the Earl of Phantomhive standing before me in the path.

"Careful miss," I hear a voice say. A hand is outstretched to prevent me from walking into the young Earl. The white-gloved hand merely touches my wrist; a warning gesture, and nothing more.

I look up, a bit startled. The body attached to those long fingers is still, towering over me. A debonair gentleman in a black suit, hair equally as dark and a smile sickly-sweet. His hand retreats from mine and motions towards the manor. "Welcome to the Phantomhive estate," he says, white lips curled at the edges.

I nod at his gesture, and then face young Ciel Phantomhive.

"Hello, my lord. How are you?" I smile at him.

"I am fine. And yourself, Lady Desrosiers?" he asks politely.

"Very well."

"That is wonderful to hear." says the boy Earl, turning slightly away from me, distant look in his one visible eye. I have always wondered what might lie beneath tat satin patch of his. "We have much to discuss , but that can wait until this evening. For now, the necessary formalities are in order. You are foremost my gues, of course. Now, Sebastian, please show the lady to her chambers."

I am led away and into the manor by the butler named Sebastian. I am instantly enchanted by the grand ballroom, the spiral staircases and baluster railings, all done in a pale cream-colored marble, veined with pink and gold.

I am shown upstairs and to the elegant bedroom that has been prepared for me. It is much nicer than the places I have been sleeping as of late, with a grand four-poster bed draped in royal purple sheets and satin pillows. The walls are painted lavender, the floorboards stained dark. There is a gilded armoire in one corner, a vanity mirror hanging beside it. On the far wall I notice a neatly organized bookccase and the painting of a vermillion-lipped woman in white hanging above it.

"My lady, I have the honor being the Phantomhive butler, Sebastian Michaelis. If you are in need of anything, I am here to serve you," says the butler, bowing deeply and swiftly, his tailcoat unruffled. His tone is thick and sweet, like honey or melted chocolate. I have never trusted that tone in a man.

"Thank you," I murmur, still scanning the room. I hear his retreating footsteps.

There is a fine view of the garden courtyard from the window beside the bed. I set my suitcase on the bed and begin to unpack what few necessary items I have brought along. _This room is very well kept_, I observe, _Either the Earl has guests quite often or he is working very hard to make it seem like he does. That or he simply has one hell of a butler._

I have never been to the Phantomhive manor in all of my travels to London in the past. I am quite pleased with my reception, as well as the lonely estate. All of this means next to nothing, of course, considering the true reason for my visit. There has been much talk of a string of decidedly… unnatural murders in the area. The odd circumstances surrounding the murders in the area. The odd circumstances surrounding the murders have left the Queen's guard dog baffled, and so, because of my particular set of skills, I have been called in from France to assist in the case.

The clock on the wall strikes five. I stroll over to the writing desk in the corner, where a single book has been left. I pick it up, curious that this volume alone would be left out, when all the others have been placed in the shelf with great order and care in the immaculate room. Frankly, it is suspiciously out of place. The red, leather-bound book has a strange design along its spine, leafy whorls embossed in a dusty-gold colour. I flip it open and notice the same design in the corners of the yellowed pages.

I slip the book into my bag. Will its disappearance be noticed? I wonder. I have bot time to study it now, but later I will be sure to do so, and with great care.


	2. Chapter 2

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"Dinner is ready," comes a voice from the hall outside my room. The butler, no doubt. The door is slightly ajar and I can just see his pale face in the dark corridor.

I sit up from the bed where I had been lying and cross to the door, opening it wider. His emotionless face greets me. "Which way?" I ask.

"Follow me, if you would," he states calmly, extending a hand to me.

I walk past his, ignoring his outstretched hand. He sighs then follows, fleetly passing me and guiding me silently down the hall and into the dining room.

The dining room is a long, high-ceilinged hall where a polished mahogany table has been set. Ciel Phantomhive sits at the head of the table, hands folded delicately, patiently. His servants stand meekly off to the side.

"I trust your chambers are adequate, Lady Desrosiers," says the Earl.

"Oh yes, of course. You have a very fine home, my lord."

"Please," he says, a small smile gracing his lips, "call me Ciel."

"Well, then you must call me Arielle," I respond, with a laugh.

"Very well," says Ciel, returning my chuckle.

The butler pulls out the chair opposite of Ciel and motions for me to sit. As I do, he mutters something under his breath that I can barely hear. I glance down at the table, at the sterling silver plates and chilled wine in a crystal chalice.

I lift the chalice by its stem, between thumb and forefinger, studying the delicate tracery pattern carved into the glass. Very beautiful, really. _And expensive. _I take a careful sip, savoring the heavy vintage. It is refreshing after my long, stuffy carriage ride.

The first course of the evening's meal is placed before me, a thick vegetable cream stew.

"Thank you, Sebastian," I say coolly. He nods in response. I list my eyes to Ciel. "Can you tell me the details of the murders, please?" I ask. I take a spoonful of the vegetable dish and taste it slowly. It is very well prepared, perfectly seasoned with black pepper and a hint of cinnamon.

"Perhaps we should wait until after dinner," replies Ciel. "I wouldn't want to spoil your appetite."

I smile and continue eating.

Sebastian, who had left the room, reenters with a wax-sealed envelope in hand, which he subtly places beside his master's plate. Ciel take one look at the envelope and groans slightly, clearly displeased. "If you'll excuse me," he says," I must take care of this. If you would, please join me in my study in an hour and we will discuss the case." He stands then, envelope in hand, and slips out of the room.

I finish eating quickly, and Sebastian offers to give me a tour of the manor while his master is occupied. I agree, and the butler offers his arm to me; this time I take it, linking mine around his.

I am brought first to the front grounds, where the young gardener is busy shaping the topiaries by twilight. Then, on to the kitchens where a rough spoken cook is washing dishes. I am shown various other rooms throughout the estate, sitting rooms, smaller dining rooms, ballrooms, and sun rooms. It is almost impossible to keep track of them all, to remember where certain places are located. This, I am sure, is the intent of the labyrinthine household.

The tour almost over, Sebastian and I pass through an upstairs hallway where the maid is carrying a precarious stack of dishes and attempting to place them on the top shelf of a china cabinet. At the sound of our approach she turns, startled, and the dishes begin to fall.

In the blink of an eye, Sebastian is gone from side, catching the first plate as it falls, and snatching the others from the hands of the clumsy maid.

"Honestly, you must be more careful Maylene," chastises Sebastian, his tone distressed, exasperated, as if this is not the first incident of its kind. "We don't want any of this expensive china falling and breaking now do we?" Sebastian proceeds to put away the plates one by one, with smooth, efficient ease.

The maid nods quickly behind a pair of inch-thick spectacles, a blush creeping across her face.

"My apologies for that little disruption, shall we complete our tour, now?" asks Sebastian, coming to take my arm again.

_Those reflexes, they were so quick, so accurate…_

…so inhuman.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all of our reviewers. We really appreciate it that you would take time to tell us what you think about the story. By the way, the chapters will get longer.**

**This chapter is in third person (switching from first person)**

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The Undertaker thinks quietly to himself about what can be done. The cuts can be sewn closed and neatly erased, but what fun would that be? No, perhaps it will be nicer to extenuate the beauty of it, leave the lacerations open and oozing. Ah, but the family might complain about that. In any case, there isn't much he can do about the face. That is a lost cause.

"You're not my first quest to have such wounds as of late," the Undertaker says to the man in the coffin. "Quite curious, really… yes, very curious."

As fond as the Undertaker is of such glorious wounds, he can sense the danger that was delivered with them. These are not the marks of a mere animal, or even a man. This is something darker… something that hungers in the night, seeking some kind of vengeance. It is growing in power, and soon these simple victims will not satiate its longing.

The Undertaker retrieves his needle and threads and goes to work, closing the wounds, inch by inch. It is disappointing work, but necessary. He gazes down on the face of the man, and thinks he can tell where the lips have once been, but are now nothing but pulpy strips of flesh.

"Smile, lad," says the Undertaker, chuckling. "It's an honor to sleep in one of me coffins."

It will be best if he does his work and remains quiet about his suspicions he decides. If the Earl comes to him for information, well then he will give it, for his usual price, of course. But until then, it is no use dwelling on it. Even so…

The Undertaker pauses in his work, squinting down at the corpse_. There is that old story they tell at the academy… _But, no. It can't have anything to do with that.

And what if it does? Well, then more than just a few humans will be in trouble.

He really ought to mention it to someone. Not the Earl… but someone who might have a bit more knowledge on the subject. He knows who he should go to, and where he is likely to be found.

The Undertaker slides the coffin's lid back on and leaves it on his workbench. He adjusts the brim of his top hat and assures that his death scythe is safely sheathed within the folds of his long black coat. He gives a departing nod to his guests, sleeping in various places about the shop, and then leaves his macabre place of business.

It is dark out, a good time to be prowling the streets. He keeps a wary eye out, bit his thoughts keep straying back to those claw marks. So much rage, there. It is certainly dangerous for all of London's underworld. But what does it mean, exactly? If it is what he suspects, the worst possible truth… well, then they are all in trouble.

Up ahead the full moon shines brightly and ominously. All those old superstitions about a full moon, when men turn to beasts… It is the nonsense of humans, and yet, there may be some subtle truth in it.

In the distance, the Undertaker hears a shrill cry. And then silence. _The screams of the dying are always so clear. _He glances up, and sees a flash of red dart between the building. _Here already, are you? But we are both too late._

The Undertaker hurries along by the light of the moon. _Madness, all of it_, he thinks with a think smile. _It's quite exciting, isn't it?_


	4. Chapter 4

**It is back to first person in Arielle's point of view.**

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Ciel Phantomhive's study is a dark room lit only by a single oil lamp sitting on his desk. That desk itself is a massive wooden object, dark and intimidating, the desk behind which a man of importance would sit-and so it is odd to see this young boy behind it, looking so very small in comparison. And yet, he holds about him an air of dignity and magnitude which cannot be ignored.

In the tall windows behind the desk, framed in red velvet curtains, I can see the full moon, high in the sky. It's gotten very late, and I'm quite exhausted from my long trip, but I know I must hide this fact.

"Thank you for coming," says Ciel, standing from his desk and walking around to sit in one of a pair of high-backed, cushioned chairs. "Please, sit," he says, motioning towards the second chair.

As I take my seat, the door to the study opens and Sebastian enters, carrying a heavy silver tea tray, which he places on the small table between the two chairs. He carefully pours steaming tea into two porcelain, gold-rimmed teacups.

Ciel waits for the tea to be poured, then takes his cup in hand, and sips slowly. "Now then," he says. During the dinner I received another letter from the Queen about this case. Unfortunately, another body was just found this afternoon in the lower streets of London. This is getting out of hand."

I glanced over at Sebastian, who had retreated into the shadows. He blended so well with the darkness. Strange that the young lord would not hesitate to speak on these matters before his butler, and yet he would not do so during dinner when the other servants were present. I knew well enough his reluctance to speak had not been out of consideration for my delicate stomach. That thought alone was comedic.

"Please, would you mind telling me all you know about these murders?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," said Ciel. "The first victim was found last Sunday, floating in the Thames. The body was identified as belonging to a certain man named William Bryans, a rather well-off tailor. The manner of death was considered to be blood loss as a direct result of a number of deep gashes found on his face, neck, and torso. The weapon used, however, did not appear to be anything manmade. By all accounts, the murder seemed to be an animal attack. A wolf or a large wolf, or a large cat, even. This is highly unlikely, in the center of London, of course. There are no circuses in the area at the time and none of the zoos have reported any missing animals. So you see, it is very strange.

"The second victim was found a day later, face down in an alley behind her place of business. Her name was Madeleine Croft, and she worked at an apothecary shop. Her manner of death was the same. Later that same day a third victim was found, a young sailor on the docks. And then two days later, a fourth. There have now, in total, been seven murders. All have in common the evidence of an anime mauling. However, there is something else each victim seems to share.

"According to the family, friends, and coworkers of these people, all interviewed by Scotland Yard, each victim was seen with a strange person, right before their deaths. The wife of the tailor Bryans said she saw her husband leave the house with a woman wearing a veil over her face, and that was the last time Mr. Bryans was seen. The employer of Miss Croft said he was locking up for the night when a man came in to browse, and Madeleine stayed, alone, to help him. Again, this was the last time she was seen, All the accounts are similar, an unidentified person being seen alone with the victim just before their deaths. However, the unidentified person is different in each case-an old woman, a homeless man, a young noblewoman.

"This may have simply been coincidence, but I have a strong feeling that it is not. It seems almost sa if this murderer-if he is the unidentified person being seen with the victims-is making an effort to be seen, knowing that he will not be recognized in his various disguises. He's arrogant, overconfident, and likely a very good master of disguise. And so that is why I have called you, Arielle. You are the greatest detective in France, as well as the best in the art of disguise."

I pore over his words as I sip my tea. "Yes, I think you're intuitions are correct on this. However, do you have an explanation for the manor of death? The apparent animal attacks?"

Ciel draws a deep breath. "It is possible that…there may be a supernatural element to these murders. I refuse to believe that this murderer has a trained a wolf or some other kind of animal to perform these killings. They are too quiet, in too public of places. An animal like that would be seen." He shakes his head. "You have dealt with the supernatural in your cases in the past, have you not?"

"Oh, many times," I say. "It doesn't surprise me in the least. What we need next is a way to go about investigating all of this. There must be something else the victims have in common…names, ages, places in society. Something to start with."

Ciel looks thoughtful. "The victims are all relatively young," he says. "All of the working class."

"Anything else? Hair colour? Nationality?"

"No, no…" Ciel trails off. "However, there is something peculiar about the tailor, the first victim. His shop sells only furs, coats and such. And he is infamous for hunting and skinning the animals he uses himself."

I shudder involuntarily. "Horrible," I say. "But could it have anything to do with the case?"

"Perhaps," says Ciel. "It is the only obviously unordinary detail about any of the victims. I wonder…" He turns towards the butler, standing very still in the corner. "Sebastian, I want you to find out any information you can regarding the occupations and favored pastimes of the victims. Particularly anything to do with anime cruelty."

"Yes, young master," says Sebastian, quickly disappearing from the room.

Ciel turns his attention back to me. "now, there are a number of ways we can go about investigating this further. I have some ideas, many of which will involve your skills and cooperation. But I would prefer to wait until Sebastian returns with-" he breaks off, glancing towards the doorway, as Sebastian walks in, a stack of papers in hand. "Good. What took you so long?" Ciel snatches the papers from the butler's hand and begins looking them over.

"My lord, I have found a number of details that relate the victims, as to your specifications," says Sebastian. "For example, the apothecary shop where the young woman Madeleine Croft worked was known to test their products on animals to male sure they were safe to use on people. As well, the fourth victim Albert Cook was fond of hunting in his spare time. Another victim worked for a company that created poisons meant to exterminate rats. And it was rumored that sailor Anthony Warder had connections with carious dog fighting groups around Europe."

"Yes, yes, very good," says Ciel, still scanning the documents. "That next step is to attempt to lure out the murderer. Aside from the obvious method of abusing an animal ourselves, there is another way we may be able to bait the killer. Sebastian mentioned one of the victims was involved with a dog fighting ring in London. It seems they operate every evening. I think it would be productive for you to disguise yourself as a patron and attend one of these fights, Arielle, tomorrow evening. I would give you a chance to scout for possible suspects, as well as learn the identities of possible future victims. What do you say?"

"Of course," I murmur. "Tomorrow evening, then."

"Very good," says Ciel, sounding pleased. He brings his teacup to his lips and grimaces. "Ugh, it's cold," he says.

"I'll take care of it, my lord," says Sebastian, taking the tray and leaving the room.

_He is very good at his job, this butler_, I think to myself.

"You must be fatigued after your trip here," says Ciel. "I am going to turn in for the night, myself."

"Yes, goodnight, Ciel," I say, before leaving the room and retiring to my chambers.


	5. Chapter 5

**And back to third person again!**

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Grell Sutcliff stands at the mouth of the dark alley. In the shadows up ahead he can see the new corpse, warm, bright red blood seeping out and staining the cobblestomes beneath the woman's body. There is still colour in her face, and her eyes are wide open, as if frozen with fear.

"No, no, _no_," Grell mutters to himself. "This is _not_ right. You are _not_ on the To Die List."

He lifts up the list in his hands, adjusting his spectacles and going over the names again and again… Just as he thought, there is no mention of this woman, this Cathrine Wolfe. He sensed when she was about to die, felt her soul escape and her Cinematic Records fly about wildly, uncontained and un-reaped. But he came too late! He didn't have the chance to reap her soul… she is lost now.

"Oh, Will is going to demote me again…" Grell says with a sigh.

He steps closer to the still-warm corpse, looking down curiously at the woman, at the grotesque wounds that run down her body, dying her clothes, skin, and hair scarlet. Though he is fond of the color, this certainly not an attractive display. He makes a boise of disgust and turns around.

"It ain't your fault, Reaper," says a voice from nowhere.

Grell looks around, catching a glimpse of gray hair and an absurdly large top hat, just down the alley.

"What are you doing here, Undertaker?" snaps Grell. "You aren't a Reaper anymore. This is my territory."

"Ach, calm down," spit's the Undertaker. "Now tell me, was this woman meant to die tonight?"

Grell narrows his eyes, hands on his hips, and turns to glance back at the corpse once more. "No…she wasn't. How do you know that?"

"And have there been others like her latey?"

"This is the third one this week," Grell admits. "I'm going to get in so much trouble…Ugh, what if Will takes my death scythe away again? I don't think I could live through that!"

"Now, now," says the Undertaker. "Think about this intelligently for once. Who do you suppose is killing these people who are not on the To Die List?"

Grell scoffs. "How am I supposed to know? That's not my job to figure out…It could be anyone."

"Yes, but look at the violence here. And how quickly it was done. You didn't even have a chance to reap her soul before it was gone, did you?"

Grell's shoulders slump. "Well, no…"

"Isn't there a possibility that it might be someone from our neck of the woods? A demon, perhaps?"

"A demon?" says Grell, thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose. But why would any demon go to all this trouble? Besides that, her soul was lost, not eaten."

"I can think of only one who might," says the Undertaker, his tone darkening, "You remember the old tales they told at the academy, I'm sure. Not just bedtime stories to frighten the young trainees, I assure you."

Grell considers this. Is it _possible…?_

"I don't want to let this get out of hand," says the Undertaker.

"I should tell Will," Grell says. "He'll know what to do."

The Undertaker shakes his head. "We can't get the entire community riled up about this. In fact, it's better to keep it quiet, for now. Until we know for sure, that is. Perhaps it would be better to go to the young Earl…"

"Yes!" says Grell, enthusiastically. "Then I could see my love, Bassie!"

The Undertaker sighs. "Well, come on then."

_The old stories from the academy, huh? _Wonders Grell as they walk through the midnight London streets_. This may be a little bit out of our hands. Quite terrifyingly so, actually. But of course, I won't pass up any chance to spend time with my dearest Bassie._

The streets are silent with the stillness of the night, but somewhere far-off =, across the Thames, perhaps, Grell imagines he can hear a hideous roar. The echoing call of a lion, perhaps. A chill goes down his spine.


	6. Chapter 6

Breakfast is served on the veranda over the garden, poached eggs on toast with a light herbal tea. I eat across from Ciel at the little garden table, listening to the doves chirping in the dew-softened trees.

Sebastian strolls out onto the veranda, his footsteps light. He stops at the table and presents us with plates of bacon.

I stare at the greasy strips of fat with distaste. "No thank you," I say as he sets a plate before me. "I don't eat meat. I'm sorry, I should have mentioned tat earlier."

"Oh? Well, I'll keep that in mind for future meals," says Sebastian retracting the plate of bacon.

I turn back to my breakfast, my appetite considerably lessened, when suddenly I hear a loud howl echoing from across the manor grounds.

"What is that?" I ask, glancing up at Ciel.

"Oh, no," he says, grimacing and shaking his head. "I _told_ Finny to take care of that beast."

I see a flash of white as something comes crashing through the gardens towards me. I am almost instantly assaulted by what appears to be a doglike human; the man-or animal-leaps at me, placing his black-clawed hands, very much like paws, on my shoulders. He then proceeds to lick my face, slobbering and panting.

"Pluto, _down_!" shouts Ciel, to no avail. "Sebastian, control the beast!"

I laugh loudly and gently pat the head of my assailant. "A demon hound," I mutter, "remarkable!" He is, indeed, a dog, though he appears to be a man in a rather tattered, muddy suit. The demon hound sits on his hind legs, tongue lolling, gazing up at me curiously.

"It seems there is no need for my intervention, sir," says Sebastian. "The lady has quite a way with the beast."

I reach down and pat Pluto's head again. He yelps, overjoyed.

"I'm quite surprised, Arielle," says Ciel, impressed. "No one, other than Sebastian, has been able to tame Pluto so quickly. He seems quite fond of you, actually."

"Well, I've always had a way with animals," I say.

When breakfast comes to an end, I excuse myself to my room to begin for the night's preparations. I know I must disguise myself as a patron at a dog fighting ring. I go through the various items I brought with me-wigs, dyes, makeup kits, and the necessary clothing. I begin by dressing in a pair of brown woolen trousers and overcoat, along with a scuffed leather shoes and worn gloves. I hide my long black hair behind a grey wig and straw hat. Using my makeup, I successfully age my face by discoloring it and drawing on dark lines around my mouth and eyes. No one will recognize me now, I know.

When the sun sets in the evening I set out. Ciel gave me the location of the dog fighting ring in lower London. I walk along the Thames, listening to the distant shouts of sailors on the docks and the rumble of carriages crossing a nearby bridge. I make my way downtown, through dark, narrow alleys and to a largely empty part of town. There, I find a seemingly abandoned warehouse that matches the description I was given by Ciel.

I draw closer, looking for any sign of life in the area. I watch as a man, limping along with the aid of a cane, comes down the street. He stops before a side door of the warehouses, gazes about him, and then enters. When the door is opened I see a dim light from within, and then I hear the yelping…the growling and the whimpering of dogs, so may dogs… I grind my teeth. I cannot stomach the though of those poor animals, forced to fight to their deaths, trained in cruelty to love the taste of blood.

I take a few steps closer to the warehouse. I hear another desperate yelp, then silence, and then the cheering of the crowds. I cannot bring myself to go inside…

"My lady, you need not torture yourself."

I turn around, and there he is, the Phantomhive butler, Sebastian. He stands very still amongst the shadows of the overhanging roofs, his pale face an white gloves glowing in the dark.

"Sebastian Michaelis," I say, slowly. "I have been observing you since my arrival. You are very, very good at your job. And very dedicated to the young Earl. Obsessively so. I have seen such a relationship a few times in my life before. Always it is that of a demon and the bearer of the soul for which he hungers. And so, from this I have deduced a very important fact. You, Sebastian Michaelis, are a demon."

A wicked smile flashes across his face. "It takes one to know one, my lady."

I laugh at him. "Oh yes? And how have you come to this conclusion?"

"Demon intuition, my lady," he says, taking a few steps closer.

"Hmm," I say," and what will you do about it?"

"I will be forced to inform my master," says Sebastian.

I let myself laugh freely now. _At least I can finally shed this human skin_. I can feel the transformation beginning. The wave of heat and power, every nerve of my body afire. I fall to all fours, My limbs elongate, my teeth sharpen, the fur begins to rise from my skin. Soon I am in my true form, my glossy black coat shrouding me in the night. I can feel the aura of dark power lingering around me. I raise my golden eyes to Sebastian.

"A cat demon," he whispers. He backs into the alley wall.

I don't understand his reaction. It makes no matter. I dart away, through the streets, back towards the Phantomhive estate. The least I can hope to do is arrive back at the manor before Sebastian; in my true form, that will be no challenge, I nearly fly across the rooftops, swift as the wind itself.

When I arrive at the manor I scale the side and climb into my bedroom window. It is dark and I am alone. I quickly transform back and change into more presentable clothes before hurrying down the hall and into Ciel's study.

Inside, the boy Earl is asleep behind his desk. _How easy it would be, _I think_, to slit that white throat, and watch the colour drain from those rosy checks_. I hear the door creak open behind me. Sebastian has returned.

Ciel stirs, and then awakens, looking up at me curiously.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, my lord," I say. "But I have returned from the dog fighting ring."

"Ah, yes," he says, yawning. "And?"

Sebastian enters and stands at my side, wordless.

"I saw nothing suspicious, I regret to inform you. Nothing out of the ordinary. I didn't catch any names, either. It was nothing more than a dead end."

"Disappointing," says Ciel, sighing. "Very well. Sebastian, I want you to begin compiling a list of possible suspects from what we know about the killer. It's likely to be very long, but no matter. Get to work."

"Yes, my lord," says Sebastian, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before he slips from the room.

I take my leave and return to my chambers. In moments I hear the door open behind me, and there is Sebastian, standing there with a tea tray in hand.

"I have a question for you," I say. "Why did you not inform Ciel of what I am when you had the chance? Are you waiting until later tonight so you can kill me in my sleep?"

Sebastian sets down the tea tray on the nightstand, "No," he says, clearing his throat. "I did not tell the young master for the very reason. He would certainly have you killed."

"And…that is not what you want?"

"No," he says, covering his face with his hand in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. He seems troubled, conflicted. "The truth is I…have a certain weakness…for cats."

My laughter is bitter and sharp. "Oh, now. _This_ should be interesting."


	7. Chapter 7

It is a dreary day in London. The skies are clouded and slate grey; the black shadow of a storm is rolling in with the cold, harsh winds.

Ciel walks along the cobblestones beside me, polished wooden cane in hand. "I hope this won't take long," I tell him. "I'd hate to get caught in the rain."

"I'm sure it will not," says Ciel, raising a small gloved hand for Sebastian, walking behind us, to hand him a file. "This man's name is Charles Ashworth. He is a nobleman who's just returned from a lengthy trip abroad. Rumor is that he's begun an organization for the protection of animals' rights. It isn't much of a lead, but right now, it's all we have to go on. Whether this man is our murderer or not, he may know something of importance."

We come to a stop outside a brownstone townhouse on the street corner. I can see dim lights flickering from within the upstairs windows.

Sebastian steps forward and pulls on the brass knocker. Almost instantly the red-painted door is thrown open by a startled maid.

"Is Lord Ashworth present at the moment?" asks Ciel. "I am the Earl Phantomhive. I require to speak with him on behalf of the Queen."

"Y-yes, follow me," says the timid maid, stepping aside to let us enter.

The interior of the townhouse is dim and largely empty, as if it has only been recently purchases and inhabited. The maid leads us down a hollow corridor and into a small drawing room where a red-haired man sits before a flaming hearth.

"My lord," mutters the maid. "The Earl Phantomhive is here to see you."

The red-haired man turns to face us. He takes a long drag on his cigar before speaking. "I was not expecting any visitors this evening," he says. You really should have called ahead, my lord."

"This is not a social call, Lord Ashworth," says Ciel. "I have a few questions for you regarding a string of recent murders in the London area."

"Murders?" says Lord Ashworth, adjusting the lapels of his tweed suit. "I'm afraid I know nothing about any murders."

"Really, now? Asks Ciel. "You've heard nothing about the violent deaths that have been occurring in this area? Animal attacks, I believe the papers are calling them."

"No. Well, you see, I've been out of the country until a few days ago. Since then I've been here, going over the necessary paperwork and expenses from my trip. I was overseas for months. There isn't any way I could have heard about these things."

"Yes, I've heard you are a marvelous businessman, Lord Ashworth. In fact, I've been hearing quite a lot about this little group you've started…"

"We are professional organization for the protection of animals," snaps the red-haired lord. He clears his throat. "I apologize for my crassness, my lord, but are you aware just exactly how the leather for your shoes is made? What is done to poor, defenseless creatures to line your coats with fur?"

"No," says Ciel. "But I know you are aware that _you_r organization started a riot in a meatpacking plant in India a month ago. Twelve people died. Innocent men and women trying to make a living. Human being, Lord Ashworth."

Lord Ashworth snorts and turns back to the hearth. The crackling flames cast hideous shadows across his gaunt face. "I have no comment on that matter, except that I will do whatever it takes to further my cause, which I believe in wholeheartedly."

"Hmm," says Ciel. "Very well. Then tell me this, at least. Are any of your associates in London currently? Have any of them been here in the past week or so?"

"No, not that I am aware of. Most are still overseas…" Lord Ashworth pauses; he looks thoughtful for a moment. "Though, now that you mention it, there was a woman that came by a few nights ago. She said we were fighting for a similar cause, and asked if I'd join her in some animal rights protest…or something. Ach, I don't know. She was an odd one. Dressed all in black, a lace veil over her face, like she was in mourning. I told her I couldn't help her, that I'm already too busy with my own pursuits. I thought she just wanted my money."

"Did you catch anything else about her? Did she give you a name?"

"No," says Lord Ashworth, scratching the stubble on his chin. "Although, I think she was French. She had a but of an accent, though it was almost as if she was trying to hide the fact. Anyways, I've known my fair share of Frenchwomen…"

"I thank you for your time, Lord Ashworth," says Ciel. "We'll be going now." he turns to leave, Sebastian on his heels. I follow them out onto the street, just as the first heavy drops of rain splash to the ground. Up ahead the thunder roars in the sky.

"Oh," I say, touching my hand to my bare head, "I do believe I've lost my hat!" My black curls fly loosely around my head with the quickening wind.

"I can send Sebastian to look for it," says Ciel, over the force of the wind.

"That won't be necessary. I'm sure I just set it down in Lord Ashworth's house and forgot it. I insist you go on ahead. I will catch up with you in a moment."

Ciel nods curtly to me and continues walking down the street. Sebastian, loyally behind his young lord, turns once to give me a cold look, a numbed threat floating in those dark crimson eyes. _Ah, but you won't do a thing about it, will you, dear Sebastian? You have your orders and I have mine._

When I am sure they are out of sight, I turn back to the townhouse. I don't bother to knock on the door, but simply let myself in. The meek little maid is nowhere to be seen. _Perfect_. I flit down the corridor and into the drawing room where Lord Ashworth is, just as I left him, smoking his cigar, He doesn't hear me enter.

I creep up behind Ashworth slowly, deliberately. _I am the hunter and here is my prey. _My arm snakes around his throat. Ashworth lets out a pitiful shriek.

"_You should have kept your mouth shut," _I hiss.

"That voice!" he gasps. I can see his bloodshot eyes widen. "I know that voice! You're the Frenchwoman-"

And then Lord Ashworth is silent and speaks no more.

I watch as his eyes roll back, revealing the white; I see the steady stream of scarlet life that flows from his neck, the tiny rivers that drizzle from the corner of his past, cracked lips. I wonder at the ecstasy of death. It has always seemed to me a pleasant experience, and I wonder if I will ever have the chance to experience it myself.

I grab my satin-lined hat from the floor where I dropped it. I can hear the maid's footsteps echoing down the corridor. Slinking through the shadows, I slip out the front door, just in time to hear the maid's shrill scream of terror.

On the street, the rain has just begun to fall, I hurry around the corner, away from the scene of my crime, and then I see him, standing in the street before me. Tall and still, and all in black.

"I have suspected for a while that you are the murderer," says Sebastian. The rain pours down around us. He hardly seems to notice the black strands of wet hair that are plastered to his face.

I am suddenly very cold. _Why didn't you go back to the mansion, you fool? You'll ruin everything! _I let out a nervous giggle. "I don't know what you mean," I say. My fingers crush around the soaking brim of my hat. "How could I be? The murders began last week and I have been in France until yesterday."

"Yes, that was what I though. And so I inquired with the French government, and they informed me that you have been out of the country since June, They lost track of your whereabouts until you _officially_ arrived in England yesterday, But I suspect you have been here much longer, planning.

"I do tend to slip out form under the government's nose rather easily," I say. "That is your only evidence that I may be the murderer, though, hmm?"

"That, along with your aversion to meat, your talents of disguise, and your inability to walk into that warehouse yesterday. It all adds up to one thing, You are the murderer."

My breath catches in my throat. The rain is suddenly so loud, a torrential waterfall around me. "You're wrong. It isn't what you think…"

"But you _are_ the murderer."

I can deny it no longer. I can still hear the maid screaming down the street. "Yes."

"Tell me one thing, my lady," Sebastian says quietly, darkly. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have a certain…disdain for people who harm animals."

"A certain disdain?" he repeats, questioning, clearly unconvinced.

"You might call it a burning hatred," I say, forcing a smile. "A dire need for vengeance."

Sebastian remains silent, his cold, measuring glance falling upon me. _Go on_, I think. _Report to your master._

There is a sudden flash of lightning nearby. The light is blinding, so very close. I can nearly feel the heat. I shield my eyes, glancing away for a split second. When the flash is gone I look back up, and the street is empty.

Sebastian is gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Just putting this out here, Elisabeth is the one to blame for the late chapter, not me (Faith).**

* * *

Alois taps the ground with his makeshift walking stick, a large tree branch he found lying at the edge of the manor grounds. His attention has been drawn to a patch of blue wildflowers.

"What are these, Claude?" he asks, in his usual singsong voice.

"Bluebells, Your Highness," Claude responds, indifferently.

Alois examines the bed of blue flowers, nestled against the ridge, before moving on down the forest path. It is a cold, wet day; the sky is dark and streaked with even darker clouds. Today, of all days, Alois commanded that they take a walk through the countryside, up through the hilly regions where the wildflowers dominate the land. The thistle groves and climbing ivy are ever-present, as well as the occasional patch of foxglove or blood-red poppies.

Alois has begun to hum to himself as he walks, some childish tune. He uses the tree branch in his hand to whack the ground and the trees around him, keeping a rhythm.

Claude notices the mud beginning to cake on Alois' newly polished shoes, and he grimaces. He brushes a spot of dirt from his own tailcoat with disgust. How he despises these little journeys into nature. It always takes him hours afterward to clean the dirt from Alois's clothes (since he behaves so carelessly, kneeling in the much with little or no heed). And he will likely track mud into the house, as well, and Claude will have to clean the floors. No, these excursions are never worth the time spent cleaning up afterwards. Alois, of course, does not notice, or care.

Claude pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps we should turn back now, Your Highness. It looks as if it might begin to rain."

"I _like_ the rain," snaps Alois, up ahead in the path. "No, we're not turning back until _I _say so."

_Of course_, thinks Claude with a muffled sigh. _As you wish._

Alois disappears momentarily, ducking into a dark forest glen. Claude hurries after him, not willing to let him out of sight, Likely he'd fall of the mountainside or snack on poisonous berries if Claude wasn't there to watch his every move.

Alois is hunched over within the shadowy glen, leaves and twigs caught in his golden hair. He is staring at something on the ground with great interest.

Suddenly, a very distinct aroma meets Claude's nose.

"Ugh," says Alois. "What is it, Claude?"

Claude approaches from behind, leaning down to see exactly what _it_ is. Alois has found what appears to be a human arm, lying amongst the brush. But there is something quite unusual about this limb, and not just the graying, rotting flesh. There are claws on the ends of the fingers, clack and jagged, and caked in dirt. _And there is the smell. The scent of demon_.

Claude moves forward and pushes aside the tangle of branches and undergrowth around the arm, quickly revealing the rest of the corpse. It appears, at first glance, to be a man. But this is no human man. No, not with that coat of bristled hair, those oddly jointed elongated limbs. The face has been mutilated, too bruised and bloody to have any recognizable characteristics. Even so, Claude knows exactly what this is.

Alois covers his nose with his hand. "Yuck, it _reeks_."

"Yes, that it does. The smell of decaying demon flesh is never pleasant," murmurs Claude.

"It's a demon, then? A dead demon? Huh."

"Not just any demon," says Claude. "And not just any death."

"What are you talking about?" snarls Alois.

"You would not understand if I told you, Your Highness. I myself don't quite understand, not yet."

"Stop speaking in riddles, Claude! What's going on? What are you going to do?"

"I think it's high time we visited our friends at the Phantomhive estate," says Claude, standing form where he had been crouched over the body.

"What? Why?" Alois demands to know.

"This may be a very serious issue. I won't know for sure until I have more information." He glances around, just as a strong gust of wind rips through the forest glen. Another, equally vulgar smell comes with it. "And until then, it is dangerous here." He reaches down, listing a protesting Alois into his arms.

"It's time to go, Your Highness."


	9. Chapter 9

The storm that was brewing earlier in the day has now hit London with its fill force. Outside, the wind rips through the trees and the rain bravely splatters the windows of the Phantomhive manor. I can hear the ghostly moaning of the wind and the violent roar of the thunder. And somewhere, far off, lightning strikes and illuminates the sky in gold.

In his study, Ciel engages in a heated conversation with Sebastian. I linger in the dark hall listening, watching.

"You heard what that Lord Ashworth said," Ciel almost growls. "How can you deny that Arielle is the murderer?"

"I am only saying, my lord, that perhaps we should continue investigating…"

"What is wrong with you?" shouts Ciel. "Tell me what you know, right this instant!"

I can see Sebastian. The reluctance etched onto his smooth face. The subtle knitting of his dark brows. "My lord, I…"

Ciel slaps Sebastian. It is not a particularly cruel gesture, and Sebastian does not seem terribly surprised. "A butler must always tell his master the truth, without hesitation, and withhold no information from him," says Ciel. "Now I'm asking you again. _Is Arielle Desrosiers the murderer?"_

"Yes, my lord."_ And there it is._

"Then I order you to find and kill her and stop this madness." _Ah, and there that is._

"It will not be difficult to find her," says Sebastian, his voice low. "She is already here."

I push open the study door and enter. "So you've figured it out, have you? I must say, I am impressed."

"Why Arielle?" asks Ciel. "Why did you do it?"

"I have a vendetta that needed taking care of. But it seems my work ends here."

"I don't understand." says Ciel, frustrated.

I SIGH. "You aren't meant to." My eyes pass over Sebastian, and I grin. "Now, Sebastian, shall we dance?"

"Master?" asks Sebastian.

"You have your orders," says Ciel, his tone even.

I see the knives before they are even between his fingers. I lunge down the corridor, just as the transformation begins to overwhelm my body. I can hear Sebastian following close behind, level footsteps racing down the hall. I see the flashes of metal as more knives fly by me, but I dodge each one with facile precision.

In the ballroom I stop, clawed feet leaving deep scratches on the marble floors I had so admired. But now my transformation is complete, and now when Sebastian faces me, I see the hesitation in his eyes, once again.

"_What is it, Sebastian? Can't harm a cat? We have a love for animal in common, then,"_ I hiss.

More knives cut through the air. But their trajectory is off, the shots clumsy. Either he purposely does not hit me, or I have bewildered him more that I thought. Whatever the case, I am not emotionally conflicted, and so I leap at him the first chance I get, claws extended and teeth bared.

Sebastian easily throws off my attack, tossing me to the ground, where I skid across the smooth floors.

"What are you doing, Sebastian?" I hear Ciel call. "This is an order! Finish her! Do it now!"

Through the dimness I can see the pinkish luminescence of Sebastian's eyes. The contract outweighs any resolve he may have not to injure me. And I know he is stronger that me. I can see his resolve. He will kill me. I can feel that the end is near and I prepare myself.

Sebastian runs at me, knives in hand. He will at least make my death swift, at least…

But then _his_ face flashes in my mind. And I know I cannot die until he is free.

"_No, wait!" _I hiss. _"I was forced to kill those people!"_

"Sebastian, stop!"

Looming over me mid-lunge, Sebastian freezes. He settles back on his heels, calm and composed as before.

"What are you talking about?" demands Ciel, stepping forward into the room.

My cat form falls away. I struggled to stand and I feel myself trembling. Never have I felt so weak. "please…please listen to me. I had to do it. I was acting under the orders of…" Darkness descends around me. Is it only the fear of what may come that plagues me now? Or have I been so weakened from my battle with the demon butler? Whatever the reason, I am failing now, and all I can do is weep.

The last thing I see is Sebastian leaning over me in a non-menacing manner; he reaches out his hand, and I think he means to help me.


	10. Chapter 10

When I come to, I find myself in an unfamiliar bedchamber. The room is dimly lit and outside I can still hear the thunderclaps attacking the sky. Not much time has passed. Sitting patiently in an upholstered chair at my bedside is Ciel Phantomhive. Behind him, as expected, Sebastian looms.

"I believe, Arielle, that it's about time you explained to us what's been going on," says Ciel, quietly.

I cannot escape, even if I wanted to. I am terribly weak, for some reason. I glance over at Sebastian. Never have I sustained such physical harm in a battle against any other demon. There is something truly remarkable about him.

"Yes," I agree quietly. "I suppose it is time for the truth. You deserve that much." I feel faint, and the darkness edges at my vision again, but I fight it. I must stay conscious long enough to tell them my story. "Let me begin by saying I am sorry for the trouble I've caused you," I murmur. "I did not intend it. And you have been so hospitable to me. And you spared me—" My voice fades away for a moment, but I clear my throat and continue, "I am an elemental demon. There are many of us, many others like me. We are connected to the earth. To the elements. To the seas and the beasts and the flowers. My kind have walked the earth since ancient times, protecting these things from the harmful hands of humans. But always in a non-violent manner. We are a…a peaceful people.

"But recently that has changed. There is one amongst us, a sort of king amongst our kind. A cat demon, such as myself. Our particular species seems to be the most powerful of the elemental demons. And he is the most powerful of them all. He goes by many names, but the ancient title by which I have been taught to refer to him by is Írusán. There are many ancient tales about him, a massive cat beast living high in the mysterious caves of mountains, surrounded by an army of similar cat-beings. There is one such story in a book I found in your house. One of the oldest stories in Britain, one of the tales of King Arthur.

"The story says that King Arthur faced this cat monster in battle, and it was slain. The tale is called 'King Arthur's Fight with the Great Cat' and follows the legend of a cat that 'fled to a high mountain and destroyed and slew all that came in his way, and was great and terrible to behold.' The story ends with Arthur killing the beast. It's partially true, that story. Except that Írusán did not die, but was cast into a deep sleep like death itself. Well, the beast has awakened, and he holds a great grudge against humanity in his heart.

"When he woke a few months past, there was a great tremor that went through the earth and touched those of us who could feel it, the elemental demons. It was Írusán calling us to his side, to be his army. I was working as a detective in France at the time…but I had no choice but to drop everything and run to be with him. The call was that powerful. I was not the only one to answer the call—nearly fifty other elemental demons were drawn out and up into the British mountains. And Írusán…he is the monster he has always been. He forced my brothers and sisters into submission, slaughtering those he deemed too weak. And then he turned to me, as I am the strongest of all.

"Írusán ordered me to come to London and kill humans that had been proved to be harming the earth in any way. Namely, abusing animals. But I know his orders will eventually grow to other things…and the only evidence he will need to deem someone worthy of death is simply _being_ human. But like I said, I am strong. I was able to fight his command; I told him I would not do it, he could do whatever he pleased to me, kill me if he liked. But you see I did not come to him alone. I came with…another elemental demon. A demon hound, in fact, who goes by the human name of Lucien Gagnon. He is very dear to me. We have been close friends for…hundreds of years. He is not as strong as me. And Írusán is easily able to control him.

"Írusán is keeping Lucien chained at his feet, constantly inches away from his deadly claws and teeth. He threatens to kill Lucien if I do not do exactly what I am told. And so I have done it, for him." I close my eyes.

No one speaks for a long moment, and then Ciel asks, "But how can we know what you say is true?"

"Oh," I say, smirking weakly, "I think you'll have your proof soon enough. Besides, haven't you sensed the change in the balance, Sebastian? You seem so in tune to these sorts of things."

Sebastian says nothing, studying me in silence.

"Why come here, then? Why agree to our request on help with this case? You could have refused," says Ciel, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand.

A weak bit of laughter escapes my lips. "I suppose…that perhaps I was hoping to get caught. That you would figure it out and dispatch of me. I never thought I'd survive this long. I wasn't planning on it. I assumed that if I died Írusán would let Lucian go. But then again…perhaps he wouldn't. And in that case I must do everything I can to stop him."

"Why not just ask us for help to begin with?" asks Ciel. "We would have done it."

"I am not that trusting, or that clever. I thought perhaps that if I were to die, it would all go away, and I wouldn't have to think about any of this, ever again. But that is a cowardly idea, I know. And I am a coward. And a fool. And I lay here now, helpless." I turn my gaze onto the odd pair. "It's your decision, now. Will you help me?"

There is a terrible darkening inside me. A heavy feeling of defenselessness, of vulnerability. Yes, my fate, the fate of Lucien, now rests with them. And after all the things I have done…considering who and what I am…how do I know that they will not toss me and my request aside? What would it hurt them to do so? I will not beg for assistance, and I will not beg for mercy if they do choose to rid of me. All I can hope…is that somehow Lucien finds salvation. All that I want…

"We'll do it," says Ciel Phantomhive, before standing and leaving the room.

Sebastian remains a moment longer, staring down at me with those hard, vague eyes of his. "You should rest," he finally says, moving into the doorway, "you're pale as death itself."


	11. Chapter 11

I wake again, hours later. I can hear a cacophony of unfamiliar voices downstairs in the manor. I climb out of the bed, cringing at the soreness of my limbs and the tightness in my chest. _Oh Lucien, what is to become of you and me?_ I do my best to rearrange my hair and dress, and then head slowly downstairs.

In the main parlor of the Phantomhive manor, a small and unusual horde of creatures has gathered. I immediately sense the presence of another demon and two Grim Reapers. I am initially hesitant, but I notice Ciel sitting at the head of the room; the look on his face is not one of alarm…he does look incredibly irritated, however.

"Ah, Arielle," says Ciel, standing when he sees me in the doorway. "You're awake."

"What is the meaning of this?" I murmur, glancing about the gathered crowd. They were talking loudly a moment before, but fell to silence when they saw me.

"You certainly didn't think we could handle this task alone, did you? No, I've brought in some…concerned citizens to assist us. I promise you'll find them all helpful, if a bit annoying," says Ciel.

"Well that's not very nice," says a young blonde boy in the corner. He regards me with narrow eyes and an upturned nose. "So this is the cat demon, hmm?"

"Yes," says Ciel, sitting back down in his chair. "This is Lady Arielle Desrosiers. Arielle, these are a few acquaintances of mine. Earl Alois Trancy and his butler, Claude Faustus," he says, motioning towards the young boy and the demon man standing behind him, "London's expert on the dead, the Undertaker, and the Reaper Grell Sutcliff." He motions towards the two Grim Reapers, one a stooped man in black and the other a rather flamboyant, red-haired man. "I've told them your story, and they are going to—hopefully—be of help to us."

I am certainly doubtful. This group does not appear particularly intimidating. The red-haired Reaper keeps inching towards Sebastian, standing off to the side, in a rather comedic manner. The other Reaper is not even paying attention to the proceedings, but has his head buried in the bookshelves on the far wall, occasionally lifting a book, examining it, and then tossing it across the room with a noise of distaste. The young Earl Trancy is lounging across the writing desk in the corner, making disparaging remarks about the room's décor to his butler, who stands very still and indifferent and nods along to his lord's comments. All in all, they are not the warriors I would have chosen to fight alongside in this battle. But, I suppose, beggars can't be choosers.

"Well," I say, quietly, "what are we waiting for, then?"

Ciel smiles darkly. "Just what I was thinking." He glances at the butler named Claude Faustus. "You said you saw some evidence of this demon king in the mountains, yes?"

The butler adjusts his spectacles on his nose. "Yes, we found the corpse of a lesser demon."

"And do you remember the location? You could lead us there?"

"Of course," says the butler.

"We ought to get going, then," says Ciel.

My heart skips a beat. "You don't…you don't seem to quite understand the weight of this situation," I mutter. "You have only seen the least of what Írusán can do. He is a force of nature…no, he is nature itself. And he has an army of followers, each one almost as strong as me. And together… This is not a mission to be taken lightly."

"I do understand," says Ciel, nodding. "And you have not seen the extent of the power of the people in this room. Do not underestimate us, either, Lady Desrosiers." He glances, almost unconsciously it seems, at Sebastian. "Have a bit more confidence in our abilities. We will not fail."

_I certainly hope not_. I cannot voice my reservations, but the tightness in my chest becomes more painful by the moment. I cannot bring myself to put my faith in this gathered group of strangers. I do not trust easily, and this I know about myself very well. But I will do my best, I decide, to depend on them. After all, what is the worst that can happen to me? I could die; that was something I'd feared all along, but accepted long ago.

However I have not accepted the idea of Lucien's death. And so my only choice is to trust these people.

"Írusán can have sway over demons," I warn.

"Not us," says Sebastian, smiling. They are the first words he has spoken since I have entered the room. "I can assure you of that. But you will have to fight him, as well."

"I can," I say, softly. _For you, Lucien_.

"Then I see no reason to worry," says the other demon, Claude.

I nod, still a bit unconvinced.

"Is there anything else in particular we should know about our foe?" asks Ciel.

_He is all-powerful. He cannot be slain. This is a fool's errand. He will kill me_. "No," I say. "Let's go."

"There is a carriage waiting out front," says Ciel. I notice he has a gun hidden within the lapels of his jacket. It is bitterly comedic if he believes a weapon like that will have any impact on a creature like Írusán. _This is hopeless_.

But again, I say nothing. False hope is better than no hope.

We make our way outside and climb up into the large, black, horse-drawn carriage that Ciel has provided. With Claude showing the way, we begin the drive up into the mountains.

I gaze out the window at the rising sun, and wonder if it is the last sunset I will ever see.


	12. Chapter 12

Morning comes as we wind our way up through the foothills of the mountains. It is a bleak day; the sky is gray and threatens rain, perhaps a storm as severe as the previous night's. In the trees I hear no birds singing; the land is silent and still, as if in preparation for some unspecified tragedy. After an hour or so of driving, the mountain paths stop, and our carriage becomes useless in the thickets and brambles of briars. We abandon the vehicle and make our way on foot.

I pause for a moment and gaze out on the marshes beneath the mountain, marveling at the beauty of this country, and wondering if these are my last glimpses of it. I move back from the cliff's edge and joint the rest of the party in making our way through the thickening wood and further up the mountain.

Our path is cleared by the red-haired Reaper with his unique scythe, an ornate chainsaw, the sharp teeth of which are perfectly suited for cutting through thick branches and vines. The Reaper, whose name is Grell Sutcliffe, complains all the way that it is a pitiful use for his instrument of death.

As we march through the forest, I can feel it darkening around us. The air becomes cooler, more still. I know that we are drawing close to the end of our journey. The path we forge now becomes familiar to me; I can pick up the faint smells of animal flesh and demon blood combined. I know my brethren are near. I can also, unfortunately, sense there is death in the air, and this realization chills me.

"This is about as far as we came before," says Claude Faustus, glancing indifferently around at the glade in which we've now stopped. "It can't be much farther up the mountain."

"No," I murmur my agreement. "It's not." I can sense the presence of the King of Cats. I know that Írusán's hovel is near, and I find myself more fearful than ever before.

We pass through the glade, and almost immediately I feel that we have entered his territory. There is a presence in the air, as if we have crossed some unseen boundary. The others seem to feel it as well; I can see the realization of the gravity of the situation beginning to dawn in their faces. They were overconfident before, but perhaps now they have come to see how dangerous what we are doing truly is.

Even so, we move on. The forest encloses around us. The path is steeper, the trees thicker. We are nearing the very peak of the mountain, where the caves are, our destination. Listening closely, I begin to hear the sounds of my brothers and sisters, whimpering in dejection, weeping for their bondage. _I have come to free you_, I want to tell them.

"We're here," I whisper, just as the thought occurs to me. I stop and look ahead, and just as I expected, rising from the side of the mountain is a massive cave entrance, like the maw of some hideous, snaggletooth monster. There is only darkness beyond, and a steady stream of mist that rises like the monster's hot, steaming breath.

I am hesitant to move any closer, and though the others seem to share my reservations, they are braver than I and move forward, heedless of the danger. I follow behind, feeling like the coward I am, but knowing I have a right to be, considering all I have experienced within those caves.

We cross the threshold into the stone monster's jaws, and the darkness quickly engulfs us. We are silent as we move down the passage and into the belly of the beast.

As we pass through the cold, moist stone corridors of the caves, my qualms are all the more heightened. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Pinpricks of fear cover my flesh. Still I move forward with the others, into the darkness.

Then, suddenly, in the distance, I can hear the great growl of the beast himself. A guttural yowl, the wail of a cat. And he is not happy. Then his voice echoes through the stony chambers, "_Arielle, my dear, is that you? Have you returned to your master?_"

Chills go down my spine, but I stand my ground.

When I do not respond, the monster calls out again. "_I sense you are not alone. Who have you brought with you? More loyal followers? Or perhaps a morning snack?_"

Again, I say nothing in response. I continue walking forward, and this time the others follow me.

Then the grand center of the cave bursts out before us, a gargantuan chasm in the midst of the mountain, carved out through centuries of wear from the underground rivers that flow through it. A greenish light plays across the high stone ceilings and walls, bioluminescence from things floating in the deep, clear waters, reflecting off the pale stalagmites. Little blind fish dart about in the deepest pools.

At the center of the great chasm there is a stone throne that rises from the ground; a bed of gray bones lies beneath it. Sitting atop the throne is the beast himself, Írusán, the King of Cats. His fur his black as coal and matted with blood. His claws and teeth are yellow, jagged, and sharp. His eyes burn red like the fires of Hell itself. His body is scarred and aged, but there is still great power in it. Atop his head he wears a crown of bones.

Surrounding the throne and filling the chasm are my brothers and sisters, the elementals, the demons. They are made of feathers and fur and dark fire. How they have fallen, hiding in the shadows, overcome and controlled by the beast that rises from their midst. I sense their fear; I can taste it in the air. Glowing eyes raise from the darkness, wide and frightened, without hope.

And then I see him. The one for which I have sacrificed everything. He is a skinny, brindled hound, shackled and bleeding, lying at the feet of the King of Cats. He too raises his head to see us enter; I think I see a bit of trust it Lucien's eyes.

"_What is this_?" roars Írusán. "_Have you come to challenge me?_" he demands.

"We have," I shout through the cave, my voice echoing.

Írusán laughs. His laughter bellows and makes the ground itself begin to quake. He is massive, I notice again, larger than any of the other demons. A force to be reckoned with. "_You have brought with you a couple of humans and lesser immortals. What threat is that to me, when I have an army at my disposal?_"

I can sense his fury building. "Then you will consent to battle us?" I call.

He laughs again. "_Forget these silly notions. Come home to me, Arielle_."

"No," I say. "I would rather die."

A cruel grin spreads across the cat beast's face. "_So be it, then_."


	13. Chapter 13

There is something that can be said of the loyalty of animals. Fickle creatures that they are, they will rarely abandon their master in a time of need. Dogs, in particular, will die at the side of their master, as eternal companions. And so then, it is quite surprising that as the battle against the demon cat king begins, the elemental demons, my brethren, do nothing.

They do not fight alongside their master, Írusán. Of course, they do little to assist us, either. They are helpless onlookers, it seemed, which is just as well. I finally begin to understand the nature of Írusán's hold on them. It is not the loyalty of master and servant, but that of a rich man and his slaves. When it comes down to the choice, they would rather remain out of conflict, and escape when an opportunity arises. Their loyalty is not to him. And so they do nothing.

I know little of the actual battle. When the fighting begins there is only one thing on my mind: Lucien. I must get to him. I dart across the cave, passing by the wary and frightened eyes of the other demons, and head in the direction of my friend, as well as Írusán.

Somewhere else in the caverns I can hear the roaring of machinery. _The Reapers' Death Scythes_? I wonder. I can't see, my line of vision is blocked as I swerve between stalagmites and head towards the center of the cave. I hear Írusán roar and know the battle has begun.

When I come to the foot of the stone throne, I crouch down where Lucien is lying in shackles. He is pale and thin, and hardly able to keep his head up.

"Are you alright?" I whisper urgently to him.

He smiles weakly up at me. "Yes," he says. "Thank you for coming."

I smile back at him, but our reunion is brief, as I hear another harsh roar from above. I look up, and see Írusán, blood spurting from one mangled paw. He's been hit, but he hardly seems injured. Only angry.

One of the Reapers has been thrown back into the cave, though I can't tell which. I'm too busy gazing up at the spectacle before me. Írusán prepares to pounce on his next opponent, none other than the butler, Sebastian Michaelis.

Oddly, I see a change in Írusán's features when he faces the butler. There's something in his vindictive eyes…something quivering and very slight. I wonder, perhaps, could it be fear? It seems impossible, and yet…

Írusán backs into the shadows behind his stone throne, and Sebastian Michaelis calmly follows him. What happens next I see very little of. I hear the yowls of a wounded cat, and a strange dark fire seems to be leaking from the shadows behind the throne above me. A single black crow feather floats down and lands at my side.

All is silent in the cave for a short while. The sound of Írusán's angry screams is gone. I don't hear or see anything of Sebastian, either, which worries me. Everyone is still for what seems like an eternity, listening to the echoing sound of something wet, dripping, somewhere in the labyrinth of caves. I reach down and take Lucien's hand in mine.

And then I see him. Out from the shadows steps a tall, dark figure. Sebastian. There is no expression on his face, but I know it is done. And I know I have witnessed something quite spectacular. I gaze up at him a moment longer, and wonder at the mystery of this butler, this demon. _Who are you really_?

"Lucien," I whisper, "we have to go."

That is when the chaos begins. The other demons leap from their shadowy corners in joy_. Írusán is dead! The master is dead! We are free_!

I use the opportunity to help Lucien to his feet, and we quickly slink out of the cavern and towards the beacon of light that will lead us outside.

"Where are we going? Back to France?" asks Lucien, with some difficulty. I'm moving too fast for him to keep up in his weak state.

"Yes, eventually," I agree, slowing a bit. "But first, I have something else I must do."

* * *

Ciel Phantomhive settles into his armchair and brings a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "So you have no idea what happened to Lady Arielle, hmm Sebastian?" he asks, quietly.

Clearing away the evening tea tray, Sebastian glances up and smiles warmly. "I certainly don't know, my lord."

Ciel sets down his teacup and lifts up a small book that was sitting in his lap. "Oh, no? Well, I found this in my study when we arrived home. Have any idea what it means?" He tosses the book to the butler.

With amused intrigue, Sebastian gazes at the book, holding in it nimble, white-gloved fingers. "Why, it's a book from your own library, my lord. I believe it is the same one that Lady Desrosiers showed us the Arthurian myth from."

"Hmm, yes," says Ciel, brushing back his blue-black hair. "Open it to the front cover."

Sebastian flips open the book and a subtle bit of surprise flashes across his features before he manages to regain his composure.

Ciel knows what he will see. A single black crow feather and an inscription carved in claw marks, "_I will tell you a little something about the feline species. There is a fine difference between housecats and wildcats. The wild ones can be tamed just as easily, but you must let them roam. And then if they come back to you, you know you are worthy_."

"Well," says Sebastian, clearing his throat. "I believe the Lady Desrosiers wished to express her thanks to us for eradicating her little problem."

"Yes, of course," says Ciel, smirking to himself. "I'm sure that's what she meant."

Sebastian turns to leave the room, taking the candlestick with him. "Sleep well, my lord."

"Sebastian!" Ciel calls after him, laughing quietly. "If I see a single cat fur on your tailcoats, there will be consequences."

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, and then sighs.

"Yes, Young Master."


End file.
